


The Clever Craft

by hotleafjuice



Series: Sons and Daughters of Skyrim [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bisexual Disaster Vilkas, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotleafjuice/pseuds/hotleafjuice
Summary: Meeting a Priest of Julianos changes Vilkas' life. He handles it with about as much grace as you'd expect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so mistakes are mine. This follows the events of "Without Complexities or Pride", and "Rescue Mission", but can be read without them.

_He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses._

_-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

 

 

4E 204

Imperial Whiterun

 

 

Etienne stood quietly under the barren branches of the Gildergreen. He ran long, slender fingers through the deep grooves in the bark. There was magic thrumming just below the surface, dormant or maybe trapped. He couldn't tell. He had traveled a long way to see the tree for himself, and to find it mostly dead was disappointing and disheartening.

“Mister, can you spare a coin? Just one. Please.”

Etienne looked down at the girl tugging on his robes. He frowned. “Um, where are your parents?”

She pulled at the fraying edges of her sleeves. “They're dead.” Tears started to well up in her eyes. “My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything. I ended up here, but... I... I don't know what else to do.”

Etienne kneeled down in front of her. “I’m sorry, little one.”

She noticed the large pendant he wore. “Are you a priest?”

“I, um, yes. That's right.” He smiled slightly. “I am a priest of Julianos.”

She looked puzzled. “I thought all priests were old like Andurs. He’s a priest of Arkay.”

He laughed. “No, no.”

“And your voice is funny.”

“I'm from High Rock. Born and raised.” He ran a hand through his hair.

She stared at him, and Etienne couldn't shake the feeling she was sizing him up. “My name's Lucia.”

“Oh, Lucia.” When he smiled, his eyes scrunched closed. “My name is Etienne.”

Lucia giggled. “I like the way you talk. _Luuciaa_ .” She tried to imitate his accent a few times. “Etienne. _Eaa-ti-nn_.” She said it to herself a couple more times to his amusement.

“Here, Lucia.” He gave her three gold coins. “Take these. I wish I could do more.”

Lucia took the money and hugged it to her chest. This was more than she had seen in a long time. “Thank you, thank you!”

Etienne gently placed his hand on her head. “You’re very welcome, and go with the blessings of Julianos.”

He watched Lucia run off toward the market. He straightened up and dusted off his robes.

“That was incredibly kind.”

Etienne whirled around to look up at a priestess of Kynareth. “Ah, Your Worship, I was just coming to speak with someone at the temple.”

She smiled, amused. “Well, here I am, _Your Resplendence_.”

Etienne wrinkled his nose. “Gods, that makes me sound ancient.” He was not sure that he would ever get used to that form of address.

“Then you can just call me Danica.” Her expression became somber. “You came to see the Gildergreen, haven't you?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“How far?”

“Just the, um, Arcane University.” He fidgeted. “So, you know, not as far as it could have been.”

Danica nodded. “You’re not the first to travel so far. And many have traveled further than that.”

“But!” He took a step forward. “I didn't come all this way just for that. I’ve been traveling across Tamriel to study under masters of the Restoration school of magic.” He cleared his throat. “You were on my list.”

Dancia’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Really? I didn't realize…”

“That you’re formally recognized.” Etienne smiled sheepishly. “I’ve done a lot of research on the subject.”

She looked at the emblem of Julianos hanging from his neck. “I really shouldn't be surprised.” She glanced around him. “I thought you would be traveling with a Knight Mentor.”

Etienne’s face reddened. “I may have… forgotten to tell her where I was going.” He sighed. “I left her at Great Chapel of Julianos in Skingrad.”

“Skyrim’s terribly dangerous.” She shook her head sadly. “Even with the war ended. I spend nearly all of my time tending to the wounded. As you well know, there are many hurts that go beyond the flesh.”

Etienne nodded. “I understand. I would stay for a while if you let me.”

“Aye. There’s much work to do.”

***

Etienne stood, his legs protesting after spending such a long time kneeling. The soldier was going to live, and he felt the satisfaction of a job well done. Danica wasn't a patient teacher or student, but he enjoyed studying.

He breathed in the now familiar scent of lavender, and decided to quit for the day. The other patients had been tended to, and there was nothing that couldn't be handled by the other priests. If he hurried, he would be able to catch Lucia before she disappeared for the night.

Lucia was still sitting under the Gildergreen, same as she had everyday for the last three weeks Etienne had been in Whiterun. She beamed the moment she saw him and hopped up from the bench.

“Good evening, Lucia.” He gave her a quick look over, noting new bruises on her arms.

“Hi, Etienne,” she chirped. “Did you learn a lot today?”

He took her hand, leading her toward the lower district for dinner. “One must learn everyday. The pursuit of knowledge is lifelong, and must be used as a tool to further the understanding of the world around us. Both seen and unseen.”

“That sounds really hard.”

Etienne shook his head. “It requires only the need to dedicate oneself to the virtue of learning.”

“So, even if I just… learn a new word or about different flowers. That counts?”

“Absolutely.”

***

Etienne was shaken out of his sleep by a frantic Danica. She would not even let him get dressed before pushing him outside in a sleep shirt.

She took him to Jorrvaskr, the home of the Companions. Etienne had never been inside but the history and architecture fascinated him. He had hoped to interview one of the legendary warriors before leaving Whiterun.

Inside, it appeared as though every candle and lantern was lit, washing the hall in blazing gold. There were people gathered around one of the tables. Etienne’s eyes widened when he saw the prone figure there.

The injuries were violent, and there was so much blood that it was starting to drip on the floor. Danica shoved him forward. “He’s not responding to my magic.”

Etienne glanced up at the warriors gathered, all of them grim and bloodied. The priest turned his attention to his new patient, whose skin was deathly pale, except for the visible wounds, which were an angry shade of red. Rents in his armor dug into the man’s flesh, and he occasionally shook as though trying to seize.

“What happened?” Etienne grabbed various bowls and rags. Danica already had a box of potions. He scrubbed his hands before reaching for the man's armor. No one answered him.

Etienne turned his attention his patient. The warriors watched as he used principles of telekinetic magic to remove the armor. The skin was badly irritated in some places. Blood oozed from a wound in his side.

Etienne’s hands glowed with pale gold light, pulling together a few of the more minor wounds. He probed at a particularly gruesome stab wound in his shoulder. Red and frothy with puss, he frowned as he felt something odd in the body.

One of the warriors, a giant of a man, growled when Etienne touched the wound, causing the man to start shaking. The priest ignored him. Etienne’s hand slowly became transparent as he dipped his fingers into the infected flesh. The giant nord at his side made a sound of dismay.

They all watched as Etienne pulled out a piece of metal from the wound. He looked at it closely. “Is this silver?” The metal _plinked_ loudly when he dropped it in a bowl.

Again, no one answered him. Etienne worked his magic, the fallen warrior much more receptive to healing this time. He soaked bandages in a strong smelling tonic that made some of the warriors take a step back and began to wrap up the remaining wounds. It was tiring, pouring that much magic and energy into a person, but Etienne loved what he did.

Once he deemed the man stable, he oversaw the transfer from the table to an actual bed. Etienne had a dark elf go fetch his healing kit from the temple. He didn't want to leave until he was sure about recovery.

***

Over the course of several days, Etienne learned much about the famed Companions of Jorrvaskr. His patient was a man named Vilkas, and the hulking Nord that stood over him was Farkas. Twins were rare, but Etienne kept his curiosity to himself.

“Master Kodlak, Vilkas will make a full recovery. It will take time though.” Etienne tried to ignore the others loitering in the hall. “An aversion to silver…”

“You’ve done your job, priest.” Skjor crossed his arms and stared down at him with barely concealed hostility.

Etienne cleared his throat nervously.

“Skjor, His Resplendence has saved our shield-brother’s life.” Kodlak looked up at his old friend. “This is no small thing.”

“I have done my appointed duty.” Etienne bowed his head politely. “I bid you good day.” Etienne left quickly, his unwelcome made quite clear.

***

Etienne was sitting under the Gildergreen with Lucia when Farkas approached. Despite the size of him, Etienne could still see a gentle heart. “Farkas, what may I assist with?”

He shuffled his feet for a moment before thrusting a small box into Etienne’s hands. “It's a gift.” He took a large step back. “For saving Vilkas.”

Etienne smiled. “It’s unnecessary, but thank you.” The box contained a small wooden bird.

“That's the sign, right?”

Etienne turned the bird over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “Yes. For the school of Restoration. Thank you.”

“Well… it’s nothing.” Farkas nodded then left as quickly as he came.

***

Etienne laughed, looking up from the alchemy table. Arcadia's Cauldron was a fine place to create his herbal medicines without the other priests standing over him. Arcadia herself was a welcoming, knowledgeable woman.

“Doesn't surprise me.” She was busy sorting ingredients. “Farkas has always been kinda shy in that way.” Her expression tightened. “I know he won't say it, but he was beside himself over Vilkas.”

“I understand. I think seeing that shook all of them.”

“Well, Vilkas is on the mend, but probably won't get cleared for duty for a while. Already driving everyone crazy trying to get back in the training yard.”

Etienne glanced over at her. “Truly?”

Arcadia snorted in amusement. “Yes. Oh, I have something for you. I nearly forgot.” She fished out a small leather pouch.

His brow wrinkled. “What's this?” He opened the pouch to reveal a large bundle of aloe vera leaves.

“Those are from Milillowyn. That greenhouse off the main road is hers.”

“I had wondered about that. I didn't know who to ask about it.” Etienne smiled down at the leaves. “These are wonderful. Good for salves. I have not yet met her.”

“You’ll like Millie. Smart. She’s a healer, too. More on the alchemical side. She's also Farkas’ wife.”

“That doesn't sound like any Nord name I’ve ever heard.”

“Bosmer.” Arcadia chuckled. “I wouldn't bring that up with Farkas, though. Last person that had something nasty to say about her being an elf ended up choking on his own teeth.”

Etienne shook his head. “I meant no disrespect. Human-Elf relationships are quite uncommon. Mere curiosity.”

Arcadia nodded, going back to her inventory.

***

Vilkas couldn't believe the man standing in front of him was a priest. He looked far too young, but he bore the crest and robes of Julianos.

This was Vilkas’ first time meeting the man while conscious _and_ lucid. The breton was shockingly ginger with hair red enough to see from the Throat of the World, and covered in as many freckles as there were stars in the sky. Etienne’s milk-pale skin reddened under his scrutiny.

“You’re Etienne?” Vilkas had wanted to properly meet the man that saved his life.

“I am. Etienne Montchevreuil-Vaillancourt at your service. I serve as a priest of Julianos, and a master in the school of Restoration.” He had smile-lines.

Vilkas snorted. “A mage.”

“Yes, like nearly all my brothers and sisters of the cloth.” Etienne was starting to feel like the conversation had taken a wrong turn.

“I suppose I’m indebted to you, mage?” He tried to push out the memory of silver burning in his blood.

“No. I collect no debts.” He cleared his throat. “Your marriage-sister is a mage, is she not?” Was there some sort of distinction he wasn't aware of.

That made Vilkas scowl. “That's different. She’s elf blood.”

Etienne looked genuinely confused. “What of the magic in your own blood?”

“There isn't any.” He was vaguely aware of his overreaction.

“But you have lycanthropy--”

Etienne didn't get any further before Vilkas had him by the front of his robes and against the wall. “Where did you hear that?” He growled deep in his chest. “Speak!”

Etienne twisted and tried to push Vilkas back, but even recovering from serious injury, he was physically stronger. “No one. No one told me. They didn't have to.”

Vilkas shook him.

“I'm… I'm a scholar. I really am a master healer.” He drew in several shuddering breaths. “Prodigy and all that. I know things. My, my order. We’re devoted to knowledge and research.”

“Vilkas!? What in Oblivion?”

Etienne slid to the floor when Farkas pulled his twin away. He couldn't hear the brothers over his own gasping breaths.

After a few minutes, Farkas entered his field of vision. “Hey. You alright?”

“I am… unharmed.” Etienne slowly got to his feet. “I didn't mean to… upset your brother. I swear.”

“Hey, now. Don't worry about that. I was coming to find you anyways.” He gestured toward the door. “You haven't met Millie, yet. She heard you wanted to see the greenhouse.”

“Millie? She is your wife, correct?” Farkas nodded. “I… alright. Let's go.”

***

“Do you really have to go?” Lucia tried not to whine.

Etienne placed a hand on top of her head. “I do, Lucia. I didn't plan on staying here as long as I have.”

She wanted to cry. “I could go with you. I won’t be any trouble. Promise.”

“I'm sorry. It's dangerous, and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt.” He handed her a large rucksack. “I got some things for you. Books, some clothes, dried food, a skin for water.”

Lucia hugged the bag tightly.

“There is also some coin.” He tapped her on the nose. “I spoke with Danica. She will let you stay in the temple. You’ll be her assistant.”

“Thank you.” A couple of fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “So much.”

Etienne kissed her forehead. “I’m going to the College of Winterhold. But, I promise I will come back to see you before I leave Skyrim.”

Lucia nodded silently.

***

Vilkas wasn’t overly fond of Windhelm. The city was colorless, dour, and full of unrest. The city still bore scars of the civil war.

He watched a guard toss a drunk out of Candlehearth Hall. He sidestepped a rowdy group of Imperial soldiers.

He took a shortcut through the alleys, putting him on the side of the Gray Quarter. He thought about making the journey back to Whiterun despite the late hour.

“You can't trust’em.”

“That is not for you to decide, guardsman.”

Vilkas recognized that accent. He rounded the corner and found Etienne standing between two guards and a heavily pregnant dark elf.

“These scum will rob you blind, priest.”

Etienne scowled. “It is my duty to protect the weak and heal the sick. I do this in the name of the Divines and my own conscious. Please leave.”

The guard grunted. “Hope I don't find your body in a ditch come morning.” The guards left, and Etienne turned his attention to the woman leaning against the wall of a shop.

Etienne helped the woman up best he could. “Come, Darise.” He struggled under her weight. Etienne wasn't a tall man and his body tended to the skinny side of lean more often than not.

Vilkas sighed and approached. “Your Resplendence, let me help.” If Etienne was surprised to see the Companion, he didn't show it.

“It’s alright, Darise.” His voice was so gentle. “Vilkas, take her other side. It’s not far.”

Vilkas had planned on leaving them at the house, but Etienne was quick to put him to work. Darise had her husband to soothe her nerves and help her into bed while Etienne prepared.

The priest was utterly calm as he talked Darise through her labor. Vilkas had been reduced to fetching towels and heating water. Etienne had delivered children before, but it always with other healers or a midwife to assist. He would make due with a bewildered Vilkas.

Darise’s labor was long and difficult, and more than once Vilkas almost left. Etienne kept up a steady stream of chatter, sometimes slipping into his native Betony.

Just before daybreak, Darise gave birth to a girl. Etienne grinned as he cleaned then swaddled her. She already had her mother's auburn hair. Once the baby was handed over, he began cleanup, and Vilkas couldn't fathom where he got the energy.

Vilkas met Etienne in the kitchen, watching him down three cups of water. He handed one to Vilkas as well. “Thank you. You were a great help.”

Vilkas looked everywhere except at the priest. “Yeah, well. I happened to be in the city.”

Etienne had a sweet smile, and Vilkas cursed himself for thinking it.

Darise called Etienne to her side before he could leave. “Thank you. We can’t repay this.”

Etienne shook his head. “I was glad to do it.” He gently touched the baby’s cheek. “She’ll be as lovely as her mother one day.”

Her husband spoke up. “You didn't have to help us.” He looked down at his little family. “Me and the wife talked it over. We wanna name her after you.”

Before there could be protest, Darise said, “Her name is Etiennette.”

“Mistress Darise--”

“Hush. We’ve decided.” She kissed her daughter's head. “No one else would help. You stood up for us. We’ll never forget that.”

Etienne stayed long enough for a meal and to check Etiennette over one more time. He blessed them in Julianos’ name.

***

Etienne didn't expect Vilkas to wait for him outside. The nord was a strange one, awkwardly formal but quick in temper. “Thank you, again. I wish you a safe journey.”

“Are you… going back to your… travels?” Vilkas looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I stopped at the College of Winterhold. I plan on going back soon.” A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Skyrim… is a fascinating place.”

“You been a priest a long time?”

Etienne laughed softly. “I’m older than I look. I joined rather early and was officially ordained twelve years ago. I travel a lot. I enjoy the… freedom of it.”

Vilkas nodded, suddenly feeling wrong-footed. “I never apologize for what happened.”

“I understand why you did it. I have no intention of spilling your secret.”

“That's odd coming from a priest.”

“I am dedicated to honoring life, to peace, to healing, to hard work, and the pursuit of knowledge in all its forms. You have done nothing that warrants my ire. Should I tell someone of your condition, it will endanger lives. And not just yours.”

“I’m still… sorry. I know I acted rashly.”

“Will you do one thing for me? Check on Lucia when you get back to Whiterun.” Etienne sighed. “I worry.”

“Aye. I can do that.”

“We will see each other again.” He sounded quite certain.

***

Vilkas and Farkas could hear the battle long before they could see it. Just past a copse of trees, there were five bandits attacking a single person dressed in robes.

The leader was a large nord with a mace and shield that he welded with obvious military training. He motioned for his group to spread out.

The twins recognized that obscenely red hair when the wind blew the hood back from their face. Etienne tried to keep all five of the bandits in view, but they were starting to fade into the trees.

Farkas drew his greatsword, and there was no hesitation in joining the fray. Vilkas took a moment to look over the field of battle before moving to flank the nearest enemy.

Etienne reeled back from the mace, and used a burst of energy to knock the man back. He watched with wide eyes when Farkas leaped forward and beheaded the bandit leader.

An arrow whizzed toward them, but it splintered against a barrier. Etienne watched the magic ripple but the barrier held.

A commotion from the trees drew attention. Vilkas killed the archer and stalked the other. Farkas breathed in deeply, smelling fear-sweat. He charged a redguard hiding in the bushes.

The two remaining bandits made a run for it. Vilkas bashed one with his shield hard enough to cave in her skull, and Farkas stabbed the other through the back.

Etienne looked ashen as he surveyed the carnage. It was a necessary evil, but his heart hurt all the same.

“Are you alright, priest?” Vilkas asked while sheathing his sword.

Etienne had a few bruises but was otherwise unhurt. “Yes,” he replied quietly.

Farkas gently nudged Etienne away. “It’s okay. You don't have to look.”

“But you killed them to protect me.”

Vilkas nodded sharply. “Aye, we did. Be glad we came along.”

“I will not celebrate a death.” His expression crumpled. “Not even the death of an enemy.”

“Are you on your way back to Whiterun?” It had been a month since Vilkas saw the priest in Windhelm.

Etienne picked up his travel bag. “Yes. I have a promise to keep.”

Farkas watched his brother rapidly cycle through several expressions before settling on indifference. He knew that meant Vilkas was anything but that.

“We can see you along. We’re heading back to Jorrvaskr.” He made it sound as though Etienne had no choice in the matter.

“I cannot leave yet.” He frowned. “I’m no disciple of Arkay, but they should have their last rites.”

“We don’t have time for that, priest.”

“Then you may leave me, _Companion_.”

Vilkas scoffed. “What, to be attacked by the next idiot that comes along?”

Etienne straightened, nevermind the top of his head only reached Vilkas’ chin. “I do not take commands from you.”

Farkas decided it was time to intervene. “We’re in no hurry. We’ll wait.” He could feel Vilkas’ hackles rising. “Nothing that won't keep one more day.”

“Thank you, Farkas.”

Vilkas was clearly displeased, but he stayed while Etienne worked.

***

Farkas knocked his shoulder against Vilkas’. “You should go talk to him.” Across the courtyard, Etienne was working on teaching Lucia her numbers.

“What are you talking about?” He crossed his arms with a scowl.

Farkas laughed. “ Etienne.” He shot his brother a grin. “You like’em.”

“Athis must have hit you harder than I thought.” His eyes narrowed, and everything about his body language was defensive.

“Don’t be like that, Vilkas.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Farkas shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

***

Kodlak set the cup of medicinal tea aside. “That's better.”

Etienne nodded. “Good. Breathe in deep for me.”

There was barely a hitch in his breathing this time. Vilkas and Skjor watched from the doorway.

“This potion will help you breathe easier.” Etienne set aside a large yellow bottle. “It’s… not a cure, however.” He looked disappointed. “Magic and medicine have come a long way, but this sickness is something we can only treat the symptoms.”

“I understand, lad.” Kodlak’s voice wasn’t so raspy.

“I wish I could do more, Harbinger.”

Kodlak patted Etienne’s hand. “You’ve given me a little more time.”

Etienne made sure Kodlak was comfortable and asleep before leaving. Skjor and Vilkas stood just outside the door. They both looked grim.

“That’s it?” Skjor shook his head. “All that magic. What’s it good for?”

“Many things. Including managing the Harbinger’s illness.” Etienne looked up at Skjor, unintimidated. “I already promised to stay in Whiterun until… my services are no longer needed.”

“And you have our thanks, Your Resplendence,” Vilkas cut in.

“You may just call me Etienne.” His hazel eyes were bright with amusement.

Skjor sighed deeply then walked off. Etienne went about arranging his healing kit.

“We really are grateful, you know.”

Etienne glanced up at Vilkas. “I know. I take no offence to Skjor’s grief.”

“Do you know…”

“I don't know how much time exactly. I wish I could tell you.” Etienne sighed. “Life is not an exact science.”

Vilkas didn't look happy with the answer, but he didn't say anything about it.

The lid of Etienne’s kit closed with a loud _snick_. He drummed stained fingers against the dark wood of the box. “If he doesn't take a sudden bad turn, it won't be particularly soon.” He offered up a wan smile.

***

Etienne watched Eorlund Gray-Mane hammer away on a long sword. He didn’t know the smith personally, only that his skill was respected throughout the entirety of Skyrim.

“Got a lot of steel to shape.” Eorlund looked up. “What is it, boy?”

Etienne cleared his throat a couple of times. “I… wanted to commission a sword from you.”

“Eh, you want Skyforge steel?” The smith dropped the sword into a trough of water. “You don’t look like the warrior type, priest.”

“No, I am not.” He forced a smile. “A mage, to the upset of many.”

Eorlund let out a short, sharp laugh. “Don’t make no nevermind to me. Just keep it to yourself.”

“But the sword… would be... a gift.” He ran his hands along the folds of his robes.

“Who for,” Eorlund asked, but Etienne looked like he didn’t wish to answer. “You want my steel, I want to know whose hand it’s going into.”

“Understood.” He thought about just turning around and leaving. Perhaps, Adrianne Avenicci would take his commission with fewer questions.

“Ain’t got all day.”

“Vilkas.” Etienne fidgeted. “It’s for Vilkas.”

Eorlund studied Etienne with sharp eyes that made him feel like a child instead of a thirty-three-year-old man. It reminded him of his grandmother and her seemingly unnatural ability to find even the most insignificant flaws.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a gift with intent.”

“It is a poor choice?” Etienne sighed. “I… nevermind. I apologize for taking up your time.”

“Hold a moment, lad. What are you trying to do?”

“It is unimportant.” Etienne bowed his head. “Again, I apologize for disturbing you.” He left before Eorlund could say anything else.

***

The doors to Jorrvaskr flew open, admitting cold wind, rain, and one priest of Julianos. Several Companions had jumped up from the table, weapons in hand and ready for battle.

Skjor stepped forward, his hand still on his sword. “What is the meaning of this, priest?”

Etienne ignored him and rushed to Vilkas. When Etienne snagged his hand, the nord could feel how icy his fingers were. Rivulets of water ran down Etienne’s face, and the water saturating his robes pooled at his feet. “Vilkas, please.” He looked near tears. “Please help me find her.”

Vilkas was taken aback, but he didn't pull away. “Find who? What's going on?”

“Lucia. Lucia is missing.” Etienne pushed his sodden hair back from his face. “Please help me find her. I’ll… pay you if that's what you wish.”

Vilkas shook his head. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Last evening. She was supposed to meet me for lessons today, but no one knows where she is. Not even Danica.” A roll of thunder shook the building. “She’s in none of her usual hiding places.”

Even with his hands twisted in the folds of his robes, Vilkas could still see how much they were shaking. He gently placed his hand on Etienne’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

***

The Companions also alerted the guard, and with help from the priests, they all started to comb the city. Despite the late hour, Etienne knocked on doors. The cold leached all the color and warmth from his skin.

Carlotta Valentia was the last to see Lucia, and she confirmed what Etienne had feared. Lucia spent money on supplies earlier in the day, claiming the purchases were for the Temple of Kynareth.

“Did she say anything else, Mistress Valentia?”

Carlotta was distressed that she didn’t think to ask Lucia more questions. The child worked at the temple, and that was common knowledge. “Only that Danica was upset about a man… a pilgrim that had come to see the Gildergreen.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to rack her brain for anything else. “Oh! The blessings of nature. Lucia talked about finding the blessings of nature.”

Danica stepped forward. “You’re sure that’s what she said?”

Carlotta nodded.

Etienne frowned. “Danica?”

“The Eldergleam Sanctuary. That’s where pilgrims of Kyne go to pray. The parent tree is there. The Eldergleam tree, the closest we can come to physically touching the glory of the goddess.”

“And Lucia went there?” Etienne looked up at Vilkas. “Will you go with me?”

“Aye.”

“Etienne, it’s dangerous.”

“All the more reason for me to leave right now. I won’t wait until morning.”

“You’ll never find her in the dark,” Danica replied.

Vilkas stepped forward. “I’m assisting him in this.” He senses were keen because of the beast-blood.

***

Etienne used magelights to pierce the dark. The lights wildly flickered in the wind and rain but never went out. Vilkas led Etienne and Farkas to Eldergleam Sanctuary.

Occasionally, Farkas would disappear into the trees, and looked disappointed every time he came back empty handed.

Vilkas dropped his cloak over Etienne. It wasn't much, but it was warmer and more weather-proof than robes. Etienne tossed out a ball of light, briefly illuminating everything around them.

They were some miles outside the city when Vilkas suddenly darted off. Etienne waved away one of the magelights to follow him.

Ten minutes later, Vilkas returned holding a terrified and injured Lucia. Etienne ran forward to meet them. “Gods be praised.”

Lucia was shaking uncontrollably, and there were numerous cuts and bruises on her face and arms. The skin around her mouth was blue, and her fingers and toes were so cold she couldn't feel them.

Vilkas shielded her as best he could while they found shelter. Farkas found a shallow cave, and no one seemed to mind the tight fit.

Etienne wrapped his borrowed cloak tightly around Lucia. Magic spread from his fingers as he tended her wounds and rubbed feeling back into her limbs. He hummed softly, and his magic weighed her down with sleep.

“Thank you, Vilkas,” he whispered. “You and Farkas didn't have to help…”

“Nonsense.”

Farkas grumbled about the weather but settled in for the night.

“I am sorry, Farkas. I know you would rather be at home with your wife.” Etienne brushed Lucia’s hair back from her face.

“Just hate the wet.”

The three of them nestled in together and waited the storm out.

***

Lucia and Etienne both got sick and both were terrible patients. Danica ended up foisting Lucia off on Carlotta and Etienne off on Vilkas.

Vilkas didn't really know what to with the priest. Eventually, he bundled him up in some blankets and left him in bed. Farkas found the whole thing too amusing.

Etienne tried his hand at reading a few of the books in Vilkas’ room, but military history and strategy couldn’t hold his attention. The was a lute in the far corner, and he wondered if Vilkas actually played. His attention shifted to the little odds and ends lining shelves along the far wall. There was a bundle of feathers, teeth of various animals, a sword’s hilt, and a few wooden carvings that had to be from Farkas.

“You should be in bed, priest.” Vilkas heaved a tremendous sigh from the doorway.

Etienne looked completely unrepentant but did sit on the edge of the bed. Vilkas had a tray of food, and he hoped the steaming bowl of soup was his. “Just curious.” He coughed into his elbow. “That lute…”

“--it belongs to Farkas.” He handed the soup to Etienne.

He tightly curled hands around the bowl, letting the heat seep into his fingers. “He doesn’t live here, correct.” Etienne leaned forward, wanting the steam to ease his breathing.

Vilkas’ expression tightened. “No, he doesn’t.” He was still a little sore about it sometimes. “He and Milillowyn have a house in the Plains District.”

Etienne only nodded, not wanting to prod any further. The soup was heavy with meat but good. He took little pieces of bread pinched off a whole loaf to dip in the broth. “Thank you.”

“It is no real trouble.” He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. There was an awkward pause before asking, “What did you do before you became a priest?”

Etienne had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer. “I am from the city of Camlorn in High Rock. My family is… nobility. I didn’t care much for politics, and being the fourth son, I got to do as I pleased.” He chuckled. “Luckily, for my parents, scholarly pursuits were my pleasure. I have attended several universities across Tamriel.”

“So why priesthood specifically?”

“I wanted to learn… _everything_. Not practical…” He pinched off another chunk of bread. “Temples of Julianos are not just temples. They’re academies. Some of the best, in fact. I joined to indulge my many curiosities, but I stayed because I grew to love my work.”

“Then why Whiterun?”

“Danica is formally recognized by my order as a master in the school of Restoration. I wanted to see what I could learn from her.” He cleared his throat. “I like it here, though. I didn’t think I would like Skyrim.”

Vilkas snorted. “Glad to exceed your expectations.”

Etienne looked sheepish. The quiet was more comfortable this time, and each tended to their tasks in peace. After wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, he watched Vilkas replace strips of leather around one of his shield’s handles.

“May I ask you something? I won’t push if… you would rather not.”

Vilkas gave him a wary look. “Ask.”

“How did you contract lycanthropy?”

Vilkas stiffened.

“You should know that Glenumbra, the region where Camlorn is located, is rife with werewolves.”

“It was… a gift.” Vilkas set the shield aside, and he took a few moments to reorder his thoughts. “I thought so anyway. At first. I've enjoyed the boons that come with the beastblood. But, over the years… I gave a piece of my soul for this power. I know my mythic histories. Bargains like that always lead to ruin.” He sighed deeply. “Now, I will never know the glory of Sovngarde.”

Etienne studied Vilkas, his expression thoughtful. “Are… you sure? Lycanthropy is technically a disease. Most diseases can be cured some way. Even diseases that lead to vampirism.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Sanguinare vampiris, porphyric hemophilia, and noxiphilic sanguivoria,” Etienne replied absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“It can't be as easy as that. Just _curing_ it.” There was a sudden flicker of hope that Vilkas fought to smother.

“No. Not easy. Never that.” He rubbed eyes, his head pounding. “I can't think… I know…” He sighed.

“Just get some rest, priest… Etienne.” Vilkas decided to take his brother's old room for the night.

***

Etienne stood just inside the door of Jorrvaskr looking uncertain and trying to convince himself that this was a bad idea. He looked across the room, finding it empty. He took time to look at the relics mounted on the walls as he made his way to the living quarters downstairs. It was quiet there, too.

Just when he was thinking that he should leave, he heard the heavy gait of armored boots. Kodlak appeared from a room further down the hallway.

“Good afternoon, Harbinger.” Etienne said, bowing his head respectfully.

Kodlak gave him long, searching look. “Your Resplendence, what can an old warrior do for you?”

His face reddened. “ _Please_ , just Etienne.” He took a step forward. “I actually came to speak with you. If you have the time.”

Kodlak nodded then beckoned Etienne to sit with him at the table just outside his quarters. Etienne tried not to be nervous, but his hands gave him away.

Kodlak sat heavily, and Etienne waved him away to take over tea duty. The familiar motions were calming, and he used that time to organize his thoughts. The Harbinger was a patient man.

“I wanted to talk about Vilkas’... condition.” Etienne tucked his legs under him, a habit leftover from childhood.

“The boy hasn't said anything about being ill.”

“Lycanthropy. I know it's supposed to be a secret.”

Kodlak made a thoughtful sound. “The silver you pulled out of Vilkas…”

“Gave it away. At least to me.” He glanced up at Kodlak. “I was wondering about a cure. He said you wished to cure yourself as well.”

“I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon, to Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an animal warrior as he would a true Nord warrior.” He sighed. “And Vilkas doesn't give secrets freely.”

Etienne smiled weakly. “He was pretty upset when I first mentioned it. I, ah, knew you already had it. Since I'm treating you.”

The old man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Clever. But yes, I’ve been looking. I want to clear this… sickness from my soul before I die. I fear the time will be upon me far too soon.”

“I want to help,” Etienne replied earnestly.

“That's too much to ask of you, young priest.” He leaned forward to catch his gaze. “You and Vilkas have been in each other's company quite often as of late.”

Etienne fidgeted with his robes, and he could feel his face growing hot. He opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him.

“Don’t look so startled, lad. You don't get to be my age without learning a thing or two about people. And the twins are like sons to me.” He finished his tea before speaking again. “And Milillowyn had much the same look when I asked about Farkas.”

Kodlak gave Etienne a comforting pat on the shoulder. “You don't have to say anything now. And I will speak to you about my search when I have more information.”

***

Luica’s laugh cut through Vilkas’ thoughts. He sat on a large rock overlooking the lazy river winding around Whiterun. He watched as she stomped in the water. Her apron already had bundles of water hyacinth and dragon’s tongue. Etienne stood a couple of feet away, standing barefoot in the water to collect sprigs of young, golden grass growing in the rich soil of the riverbed.

Vilkas thought about leaving them to their tasks, but it was peaceful. The weather was bright and mild with the coming summer. He enjoyed this time of year, and it put him at ease as much as the beastblood would allow. He looked up at the pair as they waded out of the water, both of them soaked and laughing.

Etienne grinned at him, and it made something fizzle in Vilkas’ blood. He wondered if this was how his brother felt about Milillowyn. He shook his head though he could dislodge that thought. Vilkas decided to make himself useful in carrying their bags and various bundles of flora up the main road back to the city.

***

“It’s spreading faster now.” Etienne frowned deeply as he withdrew his magic. He eased Kodlak back into bed. “I’m sorry, Harbinger.” He tried to ignore Skjor’s eyes boring into his back. “I, of course, can still treat the symptoms. I’ll start working on something stronger.”

“Peace.” He drew in a deep, rattling breath. Etienne fussed over Kodlak for a few more minutes before leaving him to sleep.

Skjor had barely closed the door behind Etienne before grabbing his arm and marching him down the hall. Etienne tried to squirm out his grip, but Skjor’s hand was like a vise. He all but threw Etienne down in one of the chairs in his quarters.

“You’re going to tell me why you can’t cure Kodlak.” He stood in front of the door, arms crossed. He wasn’t visibly armed, but that didn’t make Etienne feel any better.

Etienne straightened up, and his hands twisted in the folds of his robes. “This isn’t… there hasn’t been… I mean…” He blew out air between his teeth. “Kodlak can’t be cured because his sickness is of his own body.”

“Explain.”

Etienne tried to peer around Skjor, but the man completely blocked his view of the hall. “His lungs are… producing excess growth. It’s interfering with the organ’s normal functions. Many healers have tried to find a way to cure this. Or even slow it down.” He sighed. “Nothing so far. I am sorry, Skjor. I can’t fix this.”

“Then what good are you, mage?”

“I’m doing everything I can. I can’t just… pull answers from nowhere. There is no cure.” He jumped up, feeling frustrated and a little frightened. “Maybe one day. But not now. I… let me pass.”

Skjor didn’t move, and he continued to glower down at the priest. A few moments passed, and Etienne only grew anxious. “I have other engagements to see to.”

“Etienne?”

Skjor moved to the side, and Vilkas stood there looking between them. Etienne took Vilkas’ appearance as divine favor and practically ran out of the room, and he didn’t stop until he was outside under the barren branches of the Gildergreen.

Vilkas appeared shortly thereafter. Etienne pretended to be busy with picking lavender growing around the tree. He didn't want to talk, and his mind wouldn't slow down enough to let him be at ease.

Etienne was reciting complex alchemical formulas when Vilkas came up beside him. Both of them were unsure what to say to the other. Etienne got Vilkas to carry the stalks of lavender. A semi-comfortable silence settled around them for a long while.

“I think I’ve apologized for Skjor once already.”

Etienne straightened. “Yes. But… I understand his feelings. Even still, I don't answer to him or really anyone. I stayed to help Kodlak. I swear I'm doing everything I can.” He reached for the bundle of lavender, but Vilkas shook his head then started toward the temple. “I've written to several colleagues of mine.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise,” he said, quoting the commandment of Julianos.

Vilkas let out a soft huff of a laugh. “Aye.” He followed Etienne inside the temple, and he showed him where to store the lavender.

“Thank you, Vilkas.” He nodded politely, and Vilkas gently caught his hand before he could leave.

Etienne looked at their joined hands then up at Vilkas. He didn’t quite know what his face was doing, but it made Vilkas let go. “I’ll leave you to your work, priest.” Etienne couldn’t say anything before Vilkas ran off.

***

“But I still hear the call of the blood.” Vilkas looked worn. “It burns in me like fire.”

Kodlak nodded. “I know. We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome. You’re stronger than you realize, Vilkas.”

He frowned. “I am plenty strong.”

“There is a difference between strength of hand and strength of heart.”

The fight went out of Vilkas with a sigh. “You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”

“I know, but I will guide them as best I can.” Kodlak leaned back, subtly trying to ease the pain in his chest. “I haven’t seen much of Farkas lately. How did the job at Rannveig's Fast go?”

Vilkas snorted loudly. “Rogue wizards. I've never trusted magic types. That College is bad enough,” he replied, his tone almost petulant.

Kodlak laughed softly. “Oh, I don’t know, lad. I believe there are a couple of magic types you like just fine.”

“My marriage-sister doesn’t count.”

“And what of a certain priest?”

Vilkas scowled and did not answer.

“You know I’ve been searching for a way to cure us. Years.” Kodlak turned to Vilkas, his expression grave. “I have found a way, but it won’t be easy.”

“How?”

“One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power.” Kodlak shook his head. “All power has its hidden price. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us.”

“Then we must make another bargain,” Vilkas asked, dismayed.

“No. Their power can be taken by force. I will choose those of us that will go hunt these witches and destroy them. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity.”

“What are we waiting for then. I would go now.” Kodlak grasped Vilkas’ arm to keep him seated.

“It’s still not that simple, lad. We are warriors, and the ways of magic are not ours. But… we’ll need a mage. Someone powerful that can bind the witches’ magic and help prepare the ritual to undo this curse.”

“So we trust some… outsider with our secrets,” he replied sharply, “And where would we find this person?” He growled in annoyance.

“We know of such a person already. All that remains is to ask him.”

Vilkas blinked slowly, and after a moment of silence, said, “Etienne.”

“Aye. And as a priest of the Divines, he would have additional protection against unholy magics.”

He shook his head. “He doesn’t truly know how to fight.”

“That’s why I’m sending you and Aela along with him. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild.” Regret heavily lined his face. “I would take up this fight if I could.”

“I know, master.” Vilkas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want this. To be free. But…”

“You don’t want to put the priest in harm’s way. I know.” Vilkas opened his mouth to protest, but Kodlak cut him off with, “There’s no shame in having feelings for the lad.”

Vilkas looked sour. “I will see this done.”

***

“This… is… a lot.” Etienne frowned, and Vilkas watched several other expression flit across his face. “Is this something I could actually accomplish?”

“Kodlak thinks so.”

“Do you?”

“Aye, I do.”

Etienne twisted his hands in the folds of his robes. “Does the Harbinger actually know what this ritual entails?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say too much about it.” Vilkas touched Etienne’s shoulder. “But he doesn’t have a lot of time left. He has one wish, and I would do this.” His hand slowly slid down Etienne’s arm, and he pulled away when their fingers touched. “And I will protect you. On my honor, I’ll get you there and back.”

Etienne ducked his head to hide his ruddy face. “Thank you, Vilkas. And I would be glad to accompany you.”

There was a long silence as each man avoided the gaze of the other. Etienne broke first. “Just me and you?”

“No. Aela goes with us. She doesn't agree with the Harbinger about the beastblood, but he is like kin.”

“I don't want to slow you down, and I’m not much good at fighting.” He looked apologetic.

“How did you travel before coming to Skyrim?”

“Oh, ah, I had a Knight Mentor.” He sighed. “And now I wish she was here. She would be furious with me for leaving her behind.”

“A warrior?”

Etienne grinned. “A warrior-scholar. I’m actually a little surprised she hasn't caught up with me yet. Well, if you see a large Redguard woman dragging me away by the ear, you’ll know why.”

Vilkas laughed softly. “Understood.” He cleared his throat. “We will head out in a couple of days. Aela just got back from a job.”

“Alright,” Etienne replied as he got to his feet. He hesitated, hoping Vilkas would ask him to stay, but he let him go.

***

“Have you seen the priest?”

Lucia looked up at Vilkas, squinting against the sun. “Etienne. Nope. He was supposed to meet me here, but he’s late.”

“I’ll keep looking, lass.” He needed to get Etienne outfitted for travel. It was going to be a long trip, and he wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Vilkas found Etienne at the edge of the marketplace with a tall, armored woman. She was angry, and it showed in every line of her body. Etienne practically disappeared in his attempt to shrink away from her.

“...irresponsible. Your parents and the School tasked me with keeping watch over you.” Her voice was heavy and accented. “You cannot leave me behind again.”

Etienne’s face was flushed, and he couldn’t stop wringing his hands. “I apologize Hatmarah.” Before he could spout any more apologies, Vilkas appeared out of the corner of his eye. The Knight rounded on him with her sword drawn before either man could speak.

Vilkas’ eyes followed the length of a silver sword to a woman clad in a full set of mithril armor. Her dark eyes were hard, and she held her position with ease. “Identify yourself.”

“I am Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, member of the Companions.” He didn’t look unsettled despite the silver blade still pointed at his chest.

Etienne reached out and gently lowered her arm. “Please. He is a friend.” She withdrew. “Vilkas, this is Hatmarah al-Amjad, a Knight Mentor of the School of Julianos.”

“Aye, I see she found you.”

Etienne had the decency to look contrite. “Should have known talking about Hatmarah would summon her.”

Her hands rested on the hilt of her sword. “His Lordship tells me you’re going on some dangerous quest. He has no business getting involved in whatever mess the Companions have gotten into.”

Vilkas scowled. “He will be protected, and it’s his decision to make.”

“I am his protector.” Hatmarah shook her head slightly. “And I will see him back to Daggerfall.”

Etienne sighed. “Mara, let’s… discuss this somewhere else. Please.” Her expression hardened. “ _S'il te plait_.”

“Very well.” Hatmarah fell in line behind Etienne.

He took them up to the Temple of Kynareth and into a private room in the healer’s clinic. The whole way there, Etienne kept trying to reorder his thoughts into something Hatmarah would understand. He knew that he was on loose sand with her, and it wasn’t without cause.

Vilkas looked between the two of them, and he couldn’t help but see a jailor when he looked at Hatmarah. He needed Etienne for the quest, but he didn’t want to involve another person outside of the Companions.

Etienne made them tea just to give his hands something to do. Hatmarah was familiar with this stalling tactic. “So you planned on running off yet again, leaving me scrambling to find you.”

“I am not a wayward child, Mara.” He dropped down his chair. “I am choosing to do this. Vilkas is… important… is an important person. And my friend.”

“I don’t trust you with this.”

Vilkas crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s his own man.”

“One that causes me no end of trouble.”

Etienne ran his hands through his hair. He was agitated, and it was difficult not to show it. He cared about Hatmarah, and they had been friends for a long time. “Is this something else you’re going to report to my mother?”

“I should.” Hatmarah leaned back, looking down on him. “I didn’t tell her when you left me in Wayrest. Or Elinhir.” Etienne tried to interrupt. “What about Arenthia? It took me over a month to find you there. And most recently, Skingrad. You have a poor record, my lord.”

Vilkas raised his eyebrows, surprised that someone as mild-mannered as Etienne would be that much trouble. “Truly?” He almost sounded impressed. “You’re quite well traveled.”

“Don’t,” Hatmarah cut in, “give him any more ideas.”

“What does your mother do that makes her so protective? You’re no whimpering pup.”

Etienne sighed deeply. “My mother is the Duchess of Camlorn. In High Rock, the nobility, the Schools of Julianos, and the mage organizations are all bound up together.” A hint of resentment bled into his tone. “So, despite my attempts to branch out on my own, I’m constrained by these establishments.”

Hatmarah pulled off her helmet, setting it at her feet. She looked tired, more so in spirit than body. “What is this… endeavor that you refuse to give up?”

Etienne’s gaze shifted between Vilkas and Hatmarah. He wanted to choose his words carefully. “It is a worthy goal. To destroy the witches of Glenmoril Coven.”

“There are Glenmoril witches here? In Skyrim?” Hatmarah couldn’t deny the righteousness of the cause, and she, like any that knew High Rock’s history understood terrible power of that coven. “Why would the Companions need you to go with them?”

“They have no mages of their own.” He paused to drink tea. “A mage is needed to contain then nullify the magic.”

“And no other mage would do?”

Vilkas answered, “This was a request specifically from the Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane.”

“Mara, I have already given my word.”

Hatmarah could see that there would be no changing his mind. “I understand, and I’m going with you.” She held up her hand to keep them from interrupting her. “That is non-negotiable.”

“Aye, then.” Vilkas gave her a hard look. “We’ll see how your steel fairs in bloody battle.”

***

Aela wasn’t too please by the extra addition to the group, but she didn’t put up much of a fuss. She eyed Hatmarah’s long sword. “I hope that ain’t just for decoration.”

“No, huntress, it is not.” Hatmarah knew that she could hold her own, and she didn’t feel the need to elaborate any further than that. Etienne looked between the three warriors and sighed.

The weight of armor was unfamiliar. He wore hardened leather cuirass, greaves, and boots under heavy robes denoting the priesthood of Julianos. He smoothed his hands over the fabric, feeling the soft hum of the magic in the threads. Vilkas insisted that he be armed even though Etienne barely knew the correct way to hold a dagger. Hatmarah agreed with Vilkas, and that was that.

They left the stables just before the sun started to spill over the horizon. It made the plains blaze with color, and Etienne smiled to see it. Vilkas rode up front with Aela beside him. Hatmarah brought up the rear, and he wondered if they put him in center on purpose. He looked over his shoulder at Hatmarah, and knew he shouldn’t have asked himself that question.

There was nothing in the way of conversation, but no one seemed to mind. Etienne watched the landscape--the grass bending the wind, new leaves budding, and the birds flitting from place to place. Vilkas kept himself focused on the path ahead, and tried to ignore Aela’s teasing about their resident priest.

The first day passed uneventfully.

Bandits attacked the second day. They were organized, and where based out of a ruined fort nearby. Aela and Hatmarah were highly skilled in mounted combat and were their first line of defense.

Seven heavily armed and armored bandits circled their small party. One quickly fell to one of Aela’s arrows. The battle began in earnest then.

Hatmarah drew two swords, one short and the other long. She took the head off of one passing rider.

Vilkas locked his shield against an orc nearly twice his size.

Aela stood in the stirrups, increasing the range of her aim. She shot another bandit in the throat.

The fight was mostly under control until three more riders appeared. Mages.

A ball of fire whizzed past Hatmarah, and Etienne dispelled it before it exploded. He wasn’t a warrior as the others liked to remind him, but he was a scion of a powerful and ancient bloodline of mages.

The bandits regrouped, sending its mages along the flanks, and the melee fighters to hold a line to prevent escape.

Aela fired off three arrows in succession, two of them finding their mark.

A barrage of fire and lightning rained down on them. Vilkas was forced to abandon his horse. One of the bandits thought that made him an easy target. Vilkas forced his opponent’s blade aside with a strength that surprised them. He broke their jaw against his shield.

Etienne brought up both his hands, creating a massive shield that rapidly started to weaken under the onslaught. It bought them time.

Hatmarah used the distraction to meet one of the mages head on. It was a bold move. The mage shot off an arc of flame. Hatmarah’s long sword flared with runes, and she cut through the magic. She shoved her short sword into the man’s chest.

A whirlwind of ice closed in around Vilkas and Etienne. The priest’s hands shot forward glowing with soft blue light. Etienne gripped the seams of the spell and pulled. The effect was immediate, the ice evaporating into nothingness. Etienne continued to pull until his was able to latch onto the mage’s magicka.

The dark elf looked baffled when he tried to cast another spell and nothing happened. Vilkas knocked him to the ground and plunged his sword through his neck.

The sound of steel rung out. Hatmarah locked her blades with a woman wielding a greatsword. Hatmarah pushed, and when she had just enough give, slashed her swords in an outward arc to put space between them.

The woman was skilled, and Hatmarah briefly wondered if she was former military. She smacked the blade back again, sparks dancing along the metal.

The woman stumbled when an arrow pierced her shoulder, and Hatmarah took the opening, running her opponent threw the middle.

Vilkas tried to shake off the pain in his muscles. Lucky for him, that bolt of electricity wasn't at full strength, but he couldn’t quite hold himself steady. Etienne stood in front of him holding up a ward.

The battlemage on the other side showed no signs of letting up. She conjured a flame atronach, sending the creature hurling massive balls of fire.

They were pinned down, and Etienne couldn’t hold the ward forever. “Hatmarah!” He tried to find her on the field.

Hatmarah appeared on horseback, dodging gouts of flame. The atronach circled around, tendrils of fire shooting from its hands. A lick of fire branded the left hind leg of her horse, and the animal nearly threw her off. Hatmarah forced the horse to turn back. Her silver sword burned with golden runes.

The atronach spewed out a mass of fire, which Hatmarah swept aside with her blade. Before the creature could try again, she took its head.

Etienne’s arms were shaking, and his mind raced for ideas. He started to count the seconds between the battlemage’s spells. She kept an even pace, and when one spell ended, Etienne let out a burst of cleansing energy, shattering both his magic and his enemy’s.

She was stunned, the dead air between them nauseating.

Etienne heard the twang of Aela’s bow, and the arrow sailed by his head and into the battlemage’s right eye.

“Is everyone alright?” Hatmarah jogged up to Etienne and Vilkas, the former helping the latter to his feet.

Aela looked over the group, her expression approving. “That was quite the fight.”

Etienne held onto Vilkas’ shoulders. He was mostly recovered, but there were the occasional twitches. “Do you need healing?”

“No.” He tried to physically shake off the spell’s lingering effects. “I’ve never seen that little trick before.”

“Purge.” He fished around in his bag for a vial of magicka potion. “It’s… harder than dispel. I can’t explain it. No, dispel servers one link. Purge shatters everything.” His hands were shaking badly.

Hatmarah gently plucked the vial from his fingers. “You’re alright, my lord.” She handed it back to him uncorked.

“I… I… I… have to…” Etienne shook his head as though he could clear his mind that way. He forgotten how debilitating that power was. “Their rites.”

Hatmarah pulled off her cloak and wrapped it around Etienne. “I’ll see it done.” Her voice softened. “You’re alright.” She pulled Vilkas off to the side to speak with him. Aela went around collecting supplies, ammunition, and the horses.

***

Vilkas sat down heavily next to Etienne. They camped as far away from the ruined fort as they could before daylight burned out. Aela worked on dinner, and Hatmarah tended to the horses. Etienne was still obviously rattled, and the tremor in his hands wasn’t completely gone.

“You did a fine job back there. And I owe you for covering my hide.”

Etienne shook his head immediately. “No. No debts.” Slowly, he sagged, tried.

Vilkas smiled softly. “No debts,” he murmured. He pulled Etienne to his side, letting his head rest against his shoulder. He watched those pale, trembling fingers, and he took those hands into his.

***

The ride to Glenmoril coven took four days. Besides their run-in with bandits, the trip was uneventful. Etienne was back to full strength much to Hatmarah’s and Vilkas’ relief. They had already gone over the plan several times, but Vilkas could not help repeating himself.

Etienne watched the others prepare and tried to swallow down his anxieties. He reminded himself that Vilkas had sworn to look after him, and that Hatmarah was one of his oldest friends. It helped, but he was still afraid of something going wrong.

The air at the entrance of the cave was dank with a sharp undercurrent of blood. Vilkas took point followed by Aela, Etienne, and Hatmarah. Etienne conjured a couple of weak magelights, and it offered just enough light to create shadows. The space widened into a large cavern with glowing mushrooms and spiky grasses.

Vilkas lead them against the wall, which curved until it revealed the mouth of a tunnel. Aela moved to the front, bow drawn. She crept expertly through the darkness, and she could smell rotting meat and moldering feathers.

There was a hagraven stooped over an altar stained with blood. Her long spindly limbs were lined with feathers. Aela could hear the witch’s harsh breathing. Just as the witch turned around, Aela let go of her arrow, which went through the hagraven’s eye.

Vilkas took Etienne into the chamber. After beheading the creature, Etienne stepped forward. He used the blood to trace runes around the head, creating a bubble of magic. After preserving the head, Etienne put it in a silk bag.

It got more difficult from there. The death of their sister, drew out three more hagravens. Vilkas swore, and tried to pick out any place to take cover. Other rather a large stone of the other side of the cave, there wasn’t any options. Etienne flinched when one of the witches screeched.

Three massive fireballs raced toward them, and Etienne barely created a shield in time. Still, they could feel the heat, and their magic ate away the spell quickly. Aela dropped to the ground, and practically disappeared in the shadows.

Hatmarah and Vilkas stood in front of Etienne, weapons ready. A hagraven suddenly fell, an arrow sticking out of the back of her neck. That sent the other two into a frenzy. Spells flew wildly--fire and lightning shooting from all angles. Etienne managed to keep up a ward, but it was difficult to maintain it for multiple people.

Aela lined up another shot, but a bolt of lightning struck her in the face. Etienne called out her name, but the huntress didn’t move.

Hatmarah’s long sword lit up. “Etienne stay behind us. Vilkas, with me.” He nodded.

Witches’ magic continued to beat against Etienne’s wards. Hatmarah was nearly close enough to swing at one of the creatures when the protective magic around them shattered.

Vilkas dove to one side, and Hatmarah rolled to the other. Etienne sent out a burst of telekinetic energy, pushing the hagravens back.

Hatmarah charged one of them. Her blade struck a barrier. The hagraven summoned a firestorm. Hatmarah’s enchanted sword, cut through bursts of flame.

Vilkas’ shield held up under shower of ice. He could ignore the pain of the cold for now, but it made his blood boil. The beast itched under his skin.

Etienne wove his magic around the hagravens, tieing his threads with theirs. It was a subtle thing, and he hoped that Hatmarah and Vilkas could buy him enough time to complete the circle.

Hatmarah let out a fierce battle-cry as she brought her sword down on the witch, severing her arm.

Etienne pulled his magic tighter and tighter then jerked it away from the hagravens. They looked shocked when their magic failed. Vilkas took the opportunity to behead one, and Hatmarah beheaded the other.

The bodies had barely fallen to the ground before Etienne was racing over to Aela’s side. She was breathing, but it looked like to caused her great pain. Her muscles spasmed. The point of contact, had burned the skin away entirely, and it spread outward.

Etienne drank a magicka potion then began his work. He enjoyed healing, and it showed in his graceful movements. Slowly, but thoroughly, he knitted Aela’s skin back together. Growing new skin was tricky, but he was able to create enough to bridge the gaps. She would have an impressive scar.

They left after collecting the witches’ heads and making sure Aela would remain conscious. Etienne was glad to leave the place behind. Aela rode with Vilkas, and Hatmarah tethered the extra horse with hers.

Vilkas set a hard pace, and was able to cut a day off of their return trip.

***

Vilkas knew something was wrong the moment they passed Whiterun’s gates. He didn’t know if it was a scent on the wind or the beastblood pulling at him.

Farkas met them outside Jorrvaskr, his expression grim.

“Brother, what news do you bring?”

Farkas hesitated to answer. “Brother… the Silver Hand. Kodlak’s dead.”

Vilkas felt his ears roaring, and he immediately denied such a thing happening. Him pushed past Farkas and into Jorrvaskr. Etienne and Hatmarah walked Aela inside. A couple of the Companions were there to greet them, but it was a somber homecoming.

Below, Vilkas sat at Kodlak’s bedside. Skjor stood to the side, his face hard against his grief. Milillowyn was there, her hands and dress stained with blood. The scent of potions was heavy in the air. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She did everything she could, but it wasn’t enough.

She swallowed a few times to clear her throat. “Vilkas… I’m so sorry.”

Vilkas closed his eyes. “What… how did this happen?” He jumped up. “What in Oblivion is going on!”

“The Silver Hand waited until the hall was mostly empty and attacked.” Skjor’s jaw clenched. “Fucking cowards!”

Vilkas looked down at the Harbinger, and burned with a mix of anger and sorrow. “Those bastards will regret raising their weapons against Jorrvaskr.”

“They also stole the fragments of Wuuthrad. We will get them, and we’ll avenge the old man.”

Vilkas nodded sharply. “They will all die screaming.” He stormed out.

Milillowyn looked up at Skjor. “Go. I promise I will take care of the Harbinger and help prepare the way.”

“Aye, lass. See to the others.”

Skjor and Vilkas left a couple of hours later. Farkas and Aela wanted to join them, but were left to oversee preparations for Kodlak’s funeral. Etienne stayed with them as well.

***

Only Vilkas returned to Jorrvaskr. Skjor died making sure that the pieces of Wuuthrad returned to their Shield-brothers and sisters. Vilkas wore the blood of the Silver Hand, and the bore the weight of mourning.

Etienne stood next to Vilkas as Kodlak’s body was placed over the Skyforge. It appeared as though most of the city was here: the Jarl and his steward, both the Gray-Manes and Battle-Borns, and even people from outlying settlements. Milillowyn was next to Farkas, both of them with red-rimmed eyes.

Aela started the ceremony. “Before the ancient flame…”

Those gathered answered her. “We grieve”

Eorlund stepped forward. “At this loss…”

“We weep.”

Vilkas breathed in deeply then spoke, “For the fallen..”

“We shout.”

Farkas’ voice shook slightly. “And for ourselves…”

“We take our leave.”

Etienne squeezed Vilkas’ hand before he could walk away. Farkas kissed his wife’s forehead before he retreated with the rest of the Companions.

***

Etienne sat next Vilkas in his quarters. He hated seeing such a hollowed-eyed look, but he understood Vilkas’ pain. Gently, Etienne laid his hand over his.

“Kodlak did not care for vengeance.” Vilkas bowed his head. “And I let it rule my heart. But… we can still help him.” He ran his thumb along Etienne’s knuckles. “He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him.”

“What will you do now?”

“Eorlund reforged Wuuthrad, and with it, me and my Shield-siblings will go to Ysgramor’s tomb. We will free Kodlak’s spirit there.”

“I hope the journey is swift and you all come back safe.”

Vilkas managed a faint smile. “It is a long way to go.” He turned to him. “And you’re free of your promise.”

“Am I?”

“Aye, you said you would stay until… we no longer needed you. You kept your word.”

Etienne stood and moved in front of Vilkas. “Am I no longer needed?”

“Not in the ways you might think.” Vilkas kept his head down. “And I’ll understand if you decide to move on before we return.”

“ _Ma joie_ , I will be here when you get back.” Etienne placed his hands against Vilkas’ jaw and tilted his head upward. “And you _will_ come back.”

Vilkas pulled him in closer. “I will.”

“I very much want to kiss you.” Etienne’s face reddened. “May I?”

Vilkas pulled Etienne into his lap and kissed him. Etienne wrapped his arms around his neck.

It was a chaste kiss. Etienne liked the feel of Vilkas’ hair through his fingers. His fingers traced idle patterns over perpetual stubble. Vilkas tightened his arms around Etienne’s waist.

Etienne buried his face against the side of Vilkas’ neck. He smelled like steel and heat and sweat. Vilkas reached up and pulled the tie from his hair, admiring the bright red waves falling over Etienne’s shoulders.

Etienne smiled, and kissed him gently. Vilkas held him through the night. The priest woke to an empty bed, but he wasn't surprised.

***

Aela and the twins were gone nearly a month. Etienne spent much of his time with Lucia, assisting in the temple, or practicing alchemy with Milillowyn.

At first, no one worried. The remaining Companions took simple jobs, but it was clear they were rudderless. Milillowyn didn't seem bothered, so Etienne took his cue from her.

By the third week, everyone was on edge. Etienne forced himself to stay busy, and found an ally in Milillowyn while she did the same.

Etienne woke to the sound of armor dropping to the floor. He summoned magelight. Vilkas looked ghostly in the silver-white light. “You’re back.” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Aye, and I see you’ve made use of my bed.” He sounded as tired as he looked. Etienne opened the blanket in a clear invitation. Explanations could wait until morning. They slept curled around each other.

***

“Truly?” Etienne looked up at him in wonder.

Vilkas nodded. “I am new Harbinger.” His expression twisted into something bitter and sad. “It is an honor I don't deserve.”

“Why?”

“I don't have Kodlak’s sense for people. He could look in your eyes and measure your worth.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “It should have been Skjor.”

“I think you can do this. You care. Deeply. This is home.” He took Vilkas’ hand. “You believe in honor, bravery, and fellowship.”

Vilkas laughed weakly. “You have far more faith in me than I do.” He looked down at their interlaced fingers. “You know, Farkas said the same thing. I forget sometimes. Just because he don't talk much, doesn't mean he has nothing to say. Millie said still waters run deep.”

Etienne kissed his cheek. “Milillowyn is a fearsomely capable woman. She has the drive and intellect to join the School of Julianos.”

“I believe that. She and Farkas are going to move back in for a while. Get things settled.” He sighed. “It’s a relief, honestly.” He looked embarrassed by the admission.

Etienne leaned heavily against him. “I’ll stay for a while longer… but…” He started wringing his hands. “Hatmarah was right. I do need to return to Daggerfall.”

“It’s your duty, I understand.” Vilkas looked straight ahead. “If you need anything, you have but to ask.” He hated how stilted his voice sounded.

Etienne moved to stand in front of him. “ _Ma joie_ , it’s not forever.” He took his face in his hands. “If you will… have me,” he cleared his throat, “I want to come back to… stay.”

Vilkas’ brow wrinkled in confusion. “You said that there's so much left for you to do. I won't ask you to give that up.”

“I’m not giving up anything. I want to make Whiterun my permanent home. But I’ll still travel.” He smiled gently. “And maybe the Harbinger could be enticed to join me on some of my adventures.”

“You would… leave High Rock?” Vilkas didn't want to believe it.

“I would.” He ducked his head to hide his ruddy cheeks. “For you.”

There was a long moment of silence. Vilkas didn't know what to say. Etienne started to think maybe he overstepped. Vilkas grabbed his arms before he could pull away.

“Stay.” He kissed Etienne fiercely. “I would have you here.” He kissed him once more. “And when you go, I'd be glad to stand by your side until the Divines take us.”

Etienne tried to smother his pleased laughter. It was Vilkas’ way to be passionate in all things from battle to love. He felt hot with the knowledge that he was one of those passions. “How I say no to such a generous offer?” He pressed his mouth against Vilkas’, his fingers pulling gently at the hair at the nape of his neck.

Vilkas scooped him up in his arms as he got to his feet, and Etienne held on when his feet left the floor. The embrace was tight, almost painfully so, but it felt like homecoming. Etienne loved this man, and one day soon he hoped he could find the right words to say so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etienne drags Vilkas to Solstheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta like usual. It seems I'm not quite done writing about these two. This takes place a few months later.

4E 204

Imperial Whiterun

The twins watched Milillowyn and Etienne politely argue over the correct temperature to heat blisterwort for maximum effect. It was amusing to see them pointing at smudged notes with stained fingers and offer up alchemical formulas so complicated that it was as though they were speaking another language.

Etienne had returned from High Rock only a week ago, and already Vilkas felt a little more at ease in his skin. He didn’t dislike being Harbinger; he considered it a tremendous honor, and he was growing into the role. But, it still hurt that Kodlak was gone, and he still felt lingering guilt over Skjor’s death. They deserved better.

Farkas joined his side. He still looked completely besotted whenever his gaze landed on his wife.

Vilkas looked at the healing cut over his brother's right eye. “More trouble than you expected?”

“Nah. Just the right amount trouble,” he replied with a boyish grin.

“Tell me that again when Millie sees the cuts and bruises.”

Farkas sighed heavily.

“That's what I thought, brother.”

“You think they’re going to be at it all day?”

Vilkas laughed. “Aye, I do. I don’t think I’ve seen them so engaged.”

Farkas grinned. “So, who’d you think win in a fight?”

“Oh, definitely Millie,” Vilkas replied with a shake of his head, “She fights dirty. And rough.”

Farkas laughed. “That is true.” He knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “And now  you’re no longer scaring the new recruits with that scowly-murderface.”

Vilkas snorted. “Someone needs to put the fear of the Gods into them.”

“I’m not sure that it needs to be you, brother.”

“I may be Harbinger, but that doesn’t mean I have to let my sword gather dust.”

“With Etienne around, you won’t have that problem,” Farkas replied waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Vilkas snorted in amusement and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “Thanks, brother.” He knocked his shoulder against his before heading off.

***

“You want to go to… _Solstheim_?” Vilkas crossed his arms. “Really?”

Etienne nodded. “Of course. The alchemical ingredients alone would make a trip worth it.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll understand if you’re busy, _ma joie_. Milore Ienth lives in Raven Rock, which is right on the coast. How much trouble could I get into?”

Vilkas opened his mouth, paused then closed it again. He really didn’t want to answer that question. Sometimes, he felt as though he owed Hatmarah a lengthy apology. “And you’re going to go no matter what I say?”

“Yep,” Etienne chirped.

With a shake of his head, Vilkas sighed and let his arms drop to his sides. “Alright then. We’re going to Solstheim.”

“Good. I already have passage booked on the Northern Maiden docked in Windhelm.”

His brows rose sharply. “You’ve been planning this?” Etienne nodded. “And you knew that I’d say yes?”

“ _Mais bien sûr_ ,” Etienne said with a grin. “And I’ll need you to keep the ash storms from carrying me off.”

He couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his voice. “Of course, love.”

“Ah, and we can visit the Skaal while we’re there.” His expression turned wistful. “All that history…” He kissed Vilkas’ cheek. “It will be fun.”

***

“I don't recognize you, so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions.”  
  
Etienne looked up at Vilkas then at Captain Gjalund. He smoothed his hands down his robes and pulled his cloak tighter around him. “Ah, um, my name is Etienne Montchevreuil-Vaillancourt.” He cleared his throat. “And this is Vilkas. Mistress Milore Ienth is expecting us.” He smiled up at the dour dark elf, but his expression faltered under his gaze.  
  
“I am Second Councilor Arano, and the security of Raven Rock is my chief concern.” He looked between them, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And know that Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, _not_ Skyrim. While you're here, you will be expected to abide by our laws.”  
  
Etienne nodded sharply. “Of course, Councilor.” He took Vilkas’ hand. “Let us be on our way.”  
  
They made their way off the docks and into the city itself. Etienne wasn’t sure what to expect, but the foreign architecture immediately drew him in. The bulwark’s walls stood so high that the streets were lined with intricately carved light posts, casting everything in a soft golden hue.

The air was dry and acrid, and the taste of ash immediately coated the back of his throat. Knowing what to expect wasn’t the same as experiencing it, and Etienne’s eyes watered against the stinging wind. He pulled a scarf across his face to dampen the effect; Vilkas did the same.  
  
Despite the harsh weather, there were numerous people in the streets, mostly merchants setting out their wares for the day. Guards patrolled in bright yellow-gold armor made of chitin and resin. Curious, Etienne peeled off from Vilkas, distracted by the unusual design. By the time Vilkas caught up with him, Etienne was asking one of the guards highly technical questions about the techniques used to craft bonemold. Even though the guard was wearing a full helmet, Vilkas could see the exasperation in their stance.

“Etienne, we’re keeping them from patrolling.” Vilkas took his arm, gently guiding him away. “It’s been a long trip so let’s get settled in.”

“But…” He sighed. “I had more questions.” His tone edged on petulant.

Vilkas turned his face away to hide a grin. “I know, love.”

It was a battle to keep the scholar from wondering off to look at the stalls in the marketplace. They spent a few days on the sea, and Vilkas wanted nothing more than to sleep in a bed that didn’t sway. Etienne loved being on the Northern Maiden, but Vilkas was glad to have solid ground under his feet again.

The Retching Netch was the only inn in Raven Rock, and it made Vilkas leery of the quality of service. Etienne pulled off his scarf and shook some dust off of his clothes after his stepped inside. The scent of spices hung heavy in the air, along with the sharpness of alcohol.

The cornerclub was mostly empty this time of morning, and Vilkas was grateful for the quiet; he hadn’t realized how loud the wind was outside. A lone dark elf stood at the bar, and he waved them over with a surprisingly warm smile.

“Come in and shake the ash off.” He pulled two clay cups from beneath the bar. “Welcome to the Retching Netch, home of the greatest sujamma to ever grace your lips.”

Etienne grinned, shaking his head. “No, thank you, friend. We’re looking for room and board actually.”

The elf’s eyebrows rose at Etienne’s heavy Betony accent. “Name’s Geldis, and I got a couple of rooms free.”

Etienne tugged at the folds of his robes. “It’s...ahhh, just the one room. Please.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll say… two weeks for now?”

Geldis looked between them then nodded. “Gotta nice double.” He pulled a ring of keys off his belt. “150 drakes, and I throw in one meal a day for each of you.” He looked over at the giant of a nord standing silently behind Etienne. “You don’t look like one of the Skaal.”

“I’m a nord of Skyrim,” Vilkas replied tersely.

“Here’s the key.” He slid it across the counter, and Etienne gave a small pouch of coins in exchange. “I’ll show you to your rooms. Bathhouse is downstairs.” Geldis gave them a little tour of the place, happily answering Etienne’s questions. All Vilkas could think about was food, a bath, and bed.

***

Vilkas watched as Etienne combed out his hair as he sat at the foot of the bed. The candlelight caught in his hair made it blaze as red as the setting sun. He nudged Etienne with his foot, and he turned to smile at Vilkas over his shoulder.

“ _Oui, ma joie_?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” He flopped back against the bed. “I suppose we’ll get an early start tomorrow.”

“Hmm, yes.” He pulled his hair up in a bun. “I want to meet with Milore before she opens her shop. She is a very talented alchemist. I’m pleased.”

“Arguing with Millie wasn’t good enough?”

He laughed softly. “She has an incredible mind for alchemy, but everyone’s technique is… different. Everyone learns a different way. A skilled alchemist will always know something another does not.”

Vilkas pulled Etienne down next to him, tucking him under his chin. “So, you plan on visiting every alchemist and healer in Tamriel?”

“Would you go with me if so?”

“For you? Anything.”

***

Milore Ienth tucked a stray lock of hair back under her hood. Wind gusted up from the south, bringing the tang of smoke and ash. She watched the breton shudder in his cloak, and wrap the garment tighter around his slender body. He had a warm smile for her nevertheless.

“ _Muthsera_?”

Milore nodded. “Good morning, _serjo_.” She motioned him and Vilkas under the awning to buffer the wind. “I trust the weather was fair enough on your journey?”

“It was.” He gestured to his left. “And this is Vilkas, my helpmate.” There was always a little thrill in putting a name to their bond.

“Welcome. My husband, Garyn, is preparing some tea for us.” She started pulling out glass jars of ingredients, and she and Etienne immediately launched into a conversation about alchemy.

Vilkas stayed for awhile, long enough for tea, but he figured he would leave them to their work. He was more a historian than a scientist.

The city was really starting to come alive now that the sunlight was finally starting to peek over the bulwark. Watching the people, Vilkas quickly realized that he was the odd one out in Raven Rock. A few of the dark elves eyed him warily, but no one bothered him. Vilkas poked around a few stalls selling food, most of it involving ash yams, which he hated, but Etienne loved.

There wasn’t much activity on the docks, but the guards still moved people along. Several people stood huddled around a small fire burning brightly in a large clay pot. Despite the activity, there was a certain shabbiness the city. It was in the peeling paint, and the overgrowth running along the buildings.

The mine that gave Raven Rock its name was closed, and many of the residents relied on what provisions the Councilor and the Temple could provide. Former miners stood in a long line huddling in their cloaks to block the ash.

Several elves were speaking to an elderly priest handing out unleavened bread and preserved ash yams. Vilkas didn’t understand Dunmeris, but he could tell the priest was offering words of comfort.

“This is sacred ground, nord.”

Vilkas turned to another priest, this one hooded and staring him down with a grim expression.

“I’m not here to intrude,” Vilkas replied with a barely suppressed sigh.

“All the same, the Temple is for followers of our faith alone. Outsiders aren't welcome here.”

Vilkas made a show of turning around and walking in the opposite direction. He took the sunken road beneath the bulwark, nodding to the guards as he passed. Beyond the walls, the sun blazed hot, and the air was dry enough to burn his lungs. The ocean stretched out to his right as far has he could see, and the horizon was dominated by Red Mountain.

The sound of battle suddenly cut through Vilkas’ idle musings. Instinctively, he drew his sword, and he wished that he had not left his shield behind. He charged over a rise in the sand, coming up on a lone dark elf fighting off three deformed creatures that may have once been human.

A gout of fire blew past the elf, and Vilkas barely dodged the blow. The elf held up his bonemold shield, pushing past the relentless flame.

Distracted with the guard, Vilkas flanked them. He leapt forward, bringing his sword down on one of the creatures. It exploded into dust.

He made short work of the other one, and when he pulled his sword back, the elf was pulling his blade from the last creature.

“You have my thanks, friend.” The elf used a scrap of cloth that was once part of his uniform to wipe his face. “Was starting to think I wasn’t going to make it.”

Vilkas looked at the piles of sand and ash blowing away in the wind. “What were those things?”

“Don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “My men started calling them ‘ash spawn’.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Vilkas resheathed his sword. “I’m sorry about your shield-brother there.” He nodded to the guard laying in the dirt, his eyes staring unseeing into the sky.

“Me too,” he replied wearily. “I’m Modyn Veleth, Captain of the Redoran Guard.”

“Vilkas of Jorrvaskr.”

“You fight well. I could use an extra pair of hands if you’re up for the task of tracking down these… monsters.” Veleth shook his head. “I know you’re just visiting, but Raven Rock is under attack. This isn’t the first assault, and I fear that there’s more to come.”

“What do you know about these attacks?”

“There’s been multiple assaults on the bulwark. They come in small groups, always at different spots on the wall. It’s… almost organized. Like they’re probing it for weakness. I don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t have enough men to investigate this _and_ protect Raven Rock.”

“I’ll lend you and your people my sword arm.” Vilkas tapped his fingers against the pommel of the sword. “It wouldn’t be right to leave the people of Raven Rock vulnerable.” This wasn’t unlike a job that he would take for the Companions.

Veleth managed a tight smile. “Thank you, and I promise I’ll get Councilor Morvayn to reward you.”

“I’ll help you get your man back to the city then I’ll look into this.”

***

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Etienne looked up from his bowl of ash yam and ash hopper stew. “The others aren’t here to assist you.”

Vilkas frowned. “I know.” He didn’t want to say that Etienne should stay behind even if he felt that he should. “Support only, though. We get in over our heads, you run back to town.”

Etienne shook his head. “ _Non!_ ” the declaration uncharacteristically vehement. “We stay together. You honestly cannot think I would leave you.”

Vilkas opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head wearily. “I figured you’d say that.” He sighed. “I wish you’d stay, but… I cannot make decisions for you.”

“No, you cannot not.” Etienne frowned. “I’m no coward. I went with you before… fighting bandits and witches and defending you and yours.”

“I know,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against his. “I’ll always want to protect you even though I know that you can protect yourself.”

Etienne laughed softly. “As long as you know that we’re in this together.” He kissed Vilkas’ cheeks.

“We’ll set out early then. And hopefully we’ll find something before it gets too hot.” Fair nord skin tended to burn in the sun, but Etienne’s freckles just multiplied.

***

The sun has barely started to peek over the horizon when Vilkas and Etienne left Raven Rock. The air was cold and dry, but at least it was something they were used to; the heat wasn’t far behind though. Vilkas led the way, going back to the ruined farm.

“We fought those… ash spawn here.” He pointed. “You can still kinda see the where they crumbled.” The ground was darker there, almost as if the earth itself was scorched.

Etienne frowned, scooping up a handful of the sand. It was heavier than it looked, and he could feel lingering magic. He poked around the remains of the farmhouse, glad that it was long abandoned. He didn’t want to anyone else to fall prey to the ash spawn.

Vilkas came up beside him holding an old piece of vellum with faint writing. “I found this sticking out of the sand. Most of its faded though.” He frowned. “Something about Raven Rock. Hostilities and Fort Frostmoth.”

Carefully, Etienne took the letter to unfurl it further. “Carius.” His brow wrinkled. “Fort Frostmoth was the first Imperial fort on Solstheim. It has to be ruins now. The eruption of Red Mountain would have destroyed it.”

“Then who’s Carius?”

“A reaver captain, maybe. Someone wanting to set up some sort of base camp.” Etienne tucked the letter into the folds of his robes. “There’s powerful magic at work here, though. It has… an oily feel to it. Residual.”

“Magic,” Vilkas grumped. “Damned mages.”

Etienne chuckled. “I won’t take it to heart.”

“You don’t count.”

“Ah, I’ve reached the status of Milillowyn. I’ve moved up the world.” He grinned. “Your list of approved mages is now two. Am I to receive a title?”

Vilkas released the longest sigh in history which trailed off into a breathy chuckle. “Well, of the two, you’re my favorite.”

Etienne’s answering smile was radiant.

***

Fort Frostmoth sat uphill from a largely destroyed loading dock. Spindly, barren trees pushed up against the outer wall of the fortress, and scraggly grasses whispered with every step. Vilkas kept one hand on his sword and held his shield aloft with the other. Etienne trailed a few feet behind.

Etienne felt the pull of magic before he actually saw one of the ash spawn pull itself from the soil. Vilkas swore, taking a step back as he drew his blade. “Stay behind me. Be careful.”

A burst of fire hit them head on, but the flames sputtered out against Etienne’s barrier.

Vilkas leapt forward, practically flattening the creature with his shield.

It was a battle just to get into the main courtyard of the fort. Fire rained down from the broken towers, and with every ash spawn Vilkas cut down, another took its place.

“We can’t keep this pace!” Etienne shouted over another blast of flame.

“There’s too many! We’ll have to make a run for it.”

Etienne gathered up streams of magic swirling furiously around them to keep the monsters at bay.

Ash spawn howled as they pounded against the barrier, angry and hateful.

Vilkas managed a clear a way to one of the fort’s doors, and Etienne used wards to seal it behind them.

They both breathed heavily, sweating and shaking. Vilkas fared better than his companion, but he still needed a moment to rest. He looked through the gloom, seeing stacks of rotted furniture and countless heaps of ashen sand. The air was stale and heavy with dust. Vilkas handed Etienne a small, unlit torch.

“I don’t like these closed quarters,” Vilkas murmured. “Still alert. There’s sand everywhere.”

Etienne nodded sharply before lighting the torch.

They kept close to the walls as they inched along the fort’s winding halls. Etienne couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, and it sat like a cold stone in his stomach. The magic that hung around Fort Frostmoth felt wrong, clinging to his skin.

Vilkas crept forward, wincing at the sounds of his armor. Etienne kept close behind him holding the torch high. Every noise of the building settling, the wind through the cracks in the walls, and distant sound of movement, set them on edge.

Etienne cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Do you hear that?”

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “Hear what?”

“Voices.” He strained to make out the words, but the voices were too far away. “I think… something… someone is watching us. I can’t explain it.” He shook his head. “That sounds stupid.”

“And I’ll take that over a so-called wise man’s words any day.”

The ground started to slowly slope downward, and Vilkas figured there must have been stairs here at some point. He turned as a sudden rush of hot air hit the back of his neck. Etienne scrambled back as a hand shot out of the sand.

Two lumbering ash spawn pulled themselves out of the ground, one already burning hot enough to singe Etienne’s robes.

Vilkas brought his sword down on the other creature, but it blocked with a blade of hardened stone that made up its right arm.

The ash spawn stood between them, bearing down as others appeared. Vilkas moved with efficient grace, no move wasted. But it wasn’t enough to beat back the spawn.

Etienne cast a powerful ward, flame vanishing the second it came into contact with the barrier. He kept moving backward, trying to put space between him and the creatures. This was a moment that he wished that he had some skill in combat based magic, but he made due with defense.

Vilkas bashed into one of the ash spawn, and it exploded into dust.

Etienne pushed his barrier forward, and it pushed the ash spawn back several feet. He quickly wove together a frost rune, setting it on the ground before him.

One of the ash spawn stepped on the rune, and it froze solid; it made the others back away.

The mage created a string of small runes, laying them on the floor and along the walls as he moved further and further into the fort. He could still hear the sounds of Vilkas fighting.

The frost runes exploded in a chain, catching anything and everything in their path. A couple of the spawn froze so quickly, they crumbled into snow.

Despite the cold, Etienne could feel the sweat gathering beneath his clothes, running along his neck, and plastering his hair to his face. His hands were starting to shake, and his limbs burned with the depletion of magicka.

“Vilkas!” He took a step backward, and part of the stonework gave away. His cry was sharply cut off when he fell through the floor.

Etienne curled in on himself, and pain radiated up his left leg. He took several deep breaths, but he couldn’t shake the fog from his head. He tried to pull on his magic, but it hurt. He spent a few moments patting along his robes, looking for a vial of magicka potion. The vials were broken in the fall, and the heavy liquid was slowly spreading across his clothes.

After sitting for several long minutes, Etienne finally got to his feet. He rubbed at the dirt on his face, and left behind a smear of blood from a cut on his palm. He looked up at the ceiling, watching debris float down. He could also hear the ash spawn moving above him.

Etienne managed to summon weak magelight that threatened to flicker out at any second. He kept one hand along the wall as he tried to find a way back upstairs. He tried not to think about what could happen to Vilkas. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t worry until he could set his eyes on his beloved, and was difficult to hold on to a tendril of hope that everything would be alright.

The corridor continued to slope downward, and Etienne grew more apprehensive. He came upon a large room lined with rows of coffins set into the walls. The stench of decay made his eyes water. He flicked pinpoints of light around the room, frowning at the obvious disturbance of the graves.

Sitting on  the edge of one of the coffins was a small, battered book. Etienne flipped through the pages, most of them unreadable, but he could make out enough to know that someone was here practicing necromancy. He took the book, tucking it into the pouch hanging at his side.

The longer Etienne spent wandering the seemingly endless corridors of Fort Frostmoth, the more panicked he became. He needed to find Vilkas. He clutched the amulet of Julianos around his neck and silently prayed.

Etienne came upon a large wooden door, newer than the rest of the fort but fitting poorly in its frame. He tried to peer through the cracks, but there was nothing to see beyond the darkness. There also wasn’t really anywhere else to go, so he pushed against the door until it gave way.

Carefully, Etienne moved forward, one hand against the wall. The air here was stale and he could feel the same cold, oily magic lingering in the room. Rotting pillars held up shelves lined with coffins stacked to the ceiling. Etienne tried to draw upon his magicka again, but the power was weak, sputtering. He was afraid, but he pressed on.

It was slow work making his way across the room. He could see shafts of light coming from the other side and hoped that it was an exit. Avoiding the large mounds of sand wasn’t possible, and every time he disturbed the ashen soil, he held his breath, waiting for ash spawn to appear.

The room narrowed then opened up into a large, round chamber that was once used for preparing bodies for burial. A figure stood over a small altar to Arkay, and Etienne could hear their labored breathing.

“You have no business here.” Their voice was heavy, and their words slurred. “None of you have business here.”

Etienne reeled back when a hand shot up out of the ground. Two ash spawn pulled themselves from the sand, both of them with flickering with flame.

After putting several feet of distance between them, Etienne tugged the amulet of Julianos from his neck, holding it tightly. He pulled magicka from the amulet, and his voice was strong while reciting, “Save me by Your power, wise Julianos. Deliver me from my enemies, mighty Julianos. Set me on high from those that would rise up against me.”

Light flooded the room, blindingly bright and sunshine warm. Etienne held the amulet up, letting his magic amplified by the Divine flood Fort Frostmoth.

***

Vilkas pulled his sword from another ash spawn. His shield was cracked, and his sword arm shook. He swung at another of the creatures and nearly fell forward when his blade met air.

Silver-white light poured across the room, and the spawn burst into dust on contact. Vilkas could feel the raw power of that magic, and it settled in him and felt like a familiar embrace.

Once the light started to fade, he took off running.

Vilkas found Etienne laying in front of the altar of Arkay, and for a second, he feared the worst. Mountains of sand and ash lined the walls as if a mighty wind exploded from the center of the room. He sheathed his sword and let his shield fall by his side. Vilkas dropped to his knees next to Etienne and pulled him into his arms. The amulet of Julianos slipped from the priest’s fingers, clattering to the floor.

“Hey,” Vilkas could see the rise and fall of his chest, “Etienne?” He buried his face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent. “Come on, love. Open your eyes.”

Etienne jerked awake, gasping as though he had been drowning. His hands immediately flew to Vilkas’ shoulders, holding him tightly. “ _Ma_ … _joie_ …” He drew in a shuddering breath. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” He twisted his fingers in Vilkas’ hair. “ _Louange à Julianos_.”

Vilkas sighed heavily, his body sagging with relief. “Gods…” He pressed his mouth against Etienne’s forehead.

Etienne buried his face in the crook of Vilkas’ neck and took a moment to just rest. His body felt wrung out, and he was shaking with how utterly drained his magicka was now. “General Carius,” he murmured.

“What?” Vilkas’ brow wrinkled. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to bring back Carius. He was the general here.” He closed his eyes. “Necromancy.” Vilkas was concerned at how pale he appeared.

“Fucking necromancers,” Vilkas growled, a flash of yellow surfacing in his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mais bien sûr - but of course  
> Oui - yes  
> Muthsera - title of great respect  
> Serjo - less formal title of respect  
> Non - no  
> Louange à Julianos - praise be to Julianos


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm not going to do anything else with this story, but I figured a few people would like to read what I have left. There's no cliffhanger, just a sort of stopping point. As always, I have no beta so all mistakes are mine.

Once outside the garrison, the sun was high in the sky and bearing down hard on the city’s residents. Vilkas went to speak with the blacksmith about repairing his arms and armor, and Etienne left him with a kiss on the cheek before heading off to the temple.

Etienne and Milore had developed a more potent healing elixir, and now he was able to drop off the results with the priests of the Reclamations.

The interior of the temple was cool and lit only by lamps made of colored glass. The effect was quite beautiful, and went with the smell of incense and ash yams. Etienne smoothed one hand over his robes and hefted the basket of potions up higher on his hip with the other. The tinkering of the bottles must have gotten someone’s attention because seconds later an elderly dark elf appeared.

Etienne nodded his head politely. “Good afternoon, Elder.”

Another priest, this one much younger but with a hard expression, joined Elder Othreloth. “The Temple is for followers of our faith alone.”

“Attendant Hlervu,” Othreloth started, “This young man has been working with Milore Ienth on supplying us with more healing potions.”

Etienne cleared his throat softly. “We haven’t met. I am Etienne, Theurgist of the School of Julianos.”

Othreloth’s bushy eyebrows rose sharply. “You’re a priest of the Divines?”

“I am. I’m also a Master of the School of Restoration.” Etienne managed a smile, but it felt uncomfortable. “I refined some of Mistress Ienth’s recipes for healing potions and salves.”

Hlervu frowned. “Your accent is very strange.”

Etienne cleared his throat once more. “I’m originally from High Rock, but I live in Skyrim now.” He looked between the two elves not use what else to say. Thankfully, he remembered all the etiquette drilled into him by his mother, grandmother, and army of nannies. It kept him from dropping the basket and running. “I… meant no disrespect to you or hallowed grounds.”

Othreloth shook his head slowly. “No. The Reclamations welcome all that do good works.”

“I can leave this with you.” Etienne gave the basket to Attendant Hlervu. “If you have any questions, I’ll be staying at the Cornerclub.” He left before the priests can say anything else.

***

Geldis handed Vilkas another bottle of ashfire mead. “On the house, friend.” He grinned. “Veleth told me about Fort Frostmoth. It was good on you to come to Raven Rock’s defense.”

Etienne looked at Vilkas out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head fondly. He pulled his bowl of ash yam pudding closer and pulled his hood down lower. Ever since the incident at the fort, Etienne wanted only to enjoy some peace before they eventually returned to Skyrim.

“Vilkas,” he touched his elbow. “I’m going to bed,  _ ma joie _ .”

There was a long lull of silence before the sound of broken glass. Vilkas jumped up and found Mogrul standing over Etienne. There were a few shattered bottles of flin, the liquid spreading rapidly across the floor.

The orc growled, his hands tightening into fists. “Watch where you’re going, half-breed.”

Etienne opened his mouth to apologize but found his view suddenly blocked by an angry Vilkas.

“Watch your mouth, orc.” Vilkas curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

“You got a problem, snowman?”

Etienne huffed. “Stop.” He grabbed Vilkas’ arm. “It’s my fault. Leave it.”

Geldis wasn’t having any fighting in his bar, and that was clear by the look on his face when he came from behind the bar. He sent Mogrul away with a new bottle of flin and let Etienne pay for the ones that were broken. Vilkas watched the exchange with a mullish frown. 

Etienne practically had to drag Vilkas back to their room, but behind closed doors, Vilkas abandoned his scowl. He watched as Etienne stripped out of his soiled robes and go fishing for something (probably of Vilkas’) to wear to bed.

Vilkas came up behind Etienne, wrapping his arms around his waist. The answering chuckle made him smile, and he pressed his lips to the nape of his neck. “Are you alright, love?”

“ _ Oui _ .” Etienne laid his hands over his arms. “It was nothing.” He leaned back into the embrace, his eyes closing. “I like this,” he murmured.

Vilkas made a soft noise and tightened his arms around him. They stood like that for a while, enjoying the simple closeness of it.

***

The journey to Skaal village took nearly a week fighting the weather the whole way. First, they braved the ash storms of the south then the cold, blustery winds off the eastern shore and finally the deep snows of the north. Vilkas silently promised himself to never come back to Solstheim, and he was pretty certain Etienne felt the same.

Still, the sun rising over the modest village was a beautiful and welcomed sight. There were already people working, each single-minded in their task. Etienne pulled his hood back, revealing bright, wind-burned cheeks. He grinned then grabbed Vilkas’ arm.

They were met by an elderly man wrapped in leathers and furs with odd patterns and strings of decorative beads. “Ah, outsiders.” He had a soft smile. “I’m Storn, shaman of the Skaal.” His voice was heavy, accented, and carried an almost lyrical pace.

Etienne bowed his head. “It’s an honor to meet you. I am Etienne, a priest of the Divine Julianos and a scholar.” He squeezed Vilkas’ hand. “And this is Vilkas, Harbinger of the famed Companions of Jorrvaskr.”

Storn studied Vilkas with a piercing gaze. “I know of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor. I did not think to meet one of their number.”

Vilkas nodded sharply. “And I do not think to meet one of the Skaal. And we thank you for the welcome.”

Storn waved off his words. “It can never be said that the Skaal do not honor the rules of hospitality.” His gaze shifted to Etienne. “We have another learned man here. Studying the history and ways of the Skaal. The Greathall houses our guests. Speak to our leader, Fanari Strong-Voice.”

***

The learned man Storn spoke of was a historian from the Imperial City named Tharstan, and he had already been living with the Skaal for nearly a year. He was glad to meet another adventurous scholar, and he and Etienne immediate launched into their studies.

Vilkas was well-versed in the histories of the Tamriel, but he felt no need to debate it with others. He could happily listen to Etienne weave his stories, and it still amused him that someone so gentle-hearted and mild-mannered could have traveled so far and wide and find so much trouble.

“You are another of the outsiders that have come to learn the ways of the Skaal?”

Vilkas turned to face a tall woman in the great bear style of Nordic armor. She wore the heavy steel with ease and stood unflinchingly against the snow. He noted that she had the silver-blue eyes of the old nord blood. He eased his stance to match hers.

“Aye. You speak to Vilkas of Jorrvaskr.”

“I am Frea of the Skaal, to be the next shaman after Storn, my father.” She tilted her head slightly, her expression curious. “You came here with another man. Small with hair like flame.”

Vilkas bit back a laugh. “Aye. Etienne. He’ll probably want to speak with you later. He is here to learn about your people.”

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Ah, much like the imperial, Tharstan.” She tipped her head over her shoulder. “Come. I would test the steel of a nord of Skyrim.”

Vilkas accepted the challenge with a grin. He followed Frea to a small clearing ringed with large stones. He drew his skyforge-steel sword, the sunlight rippling along the blade like fish scales. He hefted his shield, testing the balance of it.

Frea drew twin war axes, and they were made of a material Vilkas had never seen before. The blades were bright blue-white and looked like carved ice. She spun the axes around a couple of times, wisps of cold following her movements. Her movements were so graceful, Vilkas found himself admiring the long lines of her limbs.

“Come! Battle me, Son of Skyrim!”

With a warcry, Vilkas lunged forward to bash into her with his shield. Frea planted her feet and braced herself for the impact, letting her armor absorb most of the blow.

She hooked her axes against the edge of his shield to pull it out of his hands.

Vilkas held on and pushed, forcing her backward.

Frea freed one of her axes and brought it down with a harsh cry.

Vilkas staggered back at the force of the blow, his shield suddenly much heavier. He looked and found ice coated across its surface. He turned his attention back to Frea’s strange blades.

As if reading his mind, she said, “Stalhrim.”

Vilkas shook his head, his breath bursting forth in fog at his chuckle. He slammed the hilt of his sword against the shield, shattering the ice. “I’m ready, Daughter of the Skaal.”

Their battle went on, the clang of metal ringing out. It eventually drew an audience, several people from the village watching with interest. At one point, Vilkas saw a flash of familiar red hair.

He hooked his blade against hers, hoping to pull them away. The fight ended suddenly. Their weapons met with each of them putting their considerable strength into the blow. Skyforge steel and stalhrim met with enough force to send both of them to the ground.

There was a beat of silence then cheers from the crowd. Vilkas got to his feet first, shaking the snow from his hair. He handed his shield off to Etienne then helped Frea to her feet. They grinned at each other.

“That was a hearty bout,” Frea said as she clasped his arm.

Vilkas held her forearm in return. “Aye! Well fought.”

***

Etienne peeked out from the large furred blanket wrapped around him. He watched Vilkas sharpen his sword, and the sound of the rubbing metal was soothing in its familiarity. He watched the flex of Vilkas’ arms and how the muscles moved across his back. He was beautiful in the way someone so competent and confident could be.

“Frea is a very powerful warrior.”

“She is.” Vilkas glanced at him over his shoulder. “Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.”

Etienne nodded absently. “Is it… common for your people to… be with other… peoples?” He bit the inside of his cheeks. “Like your brother and Milillowyn?”

Vilkas turned the question over in his mind, trying to work out the the reason for it in the first place. “You mean other races?” He turned around.

Etienne shrugged. “Something like that.” He wouldn’t look him in the face. “Your people value honor, loyalty, and strength-of-arms.”

Vilkas’ brow wrinkled. “And you make it sound as though you don’t have these things.”

“Ahh, I’m no nord, Vilkas.” He tugged at a stray thread on the blanket. “I’m not like…” He gestured vaguely. “Frea.”

Vilkas’ eyebrows rose sharply. “Frea?” There was a long pause. “You’re… jealous?”

“No,” Etienne replied with a frown. “ _ Non _ ,” he said softly. “She… might be better? I… don’t know how to say it.” Being at a loss for words was a rare, frustrating experience. “She’s more like you. She can…” He waved his hand. “Be with you. Like  _ that _ . The same hot blood in your veins.”

Vilkas stared at him, puzzled for a before his expression slackened in surprise. “You mean sex?”

Etienne twisted his hands in the blanket. “I… yes.  _ Sex _ . It's… not…” He huffed.

“Etienne?” He reached for him.

“I can't have sex with you.” Etienne dropped his head. “I don't feel that. For anyone.”

Vilkas sighed lightly. “Etienne, it's not about sex.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I mean, it’s nice, but I don’t  _ need _ it.” He took his hand. “But I do need you. Just the way you are.”

Slowly, Etienne lifted his head, revealing watery eyes. He bit his lower lip, not knowing what to say.

Vilkas pulled him into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I meant what I said-- I'd be glad to stand by your side until the Divines take us.”

Etienne’s shoulders shook with a weak laugh. “ _ Ma joie _ .”

“You always call me that.”

“ _ Ma joie _ . My joy.”

**Author's Note:**

> S'il te plait - please (informal)
> 
> Ma joie - my joy


End file.
